


Drinking Alone

by ThinCeiling



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, Sexual Harassment, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinCeiling/pseuds/ThinCeiling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College teachers AU where Historia gets hit on by some creep in a bar. Ymir swoops to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Alone

Historia Renz was not the type to go out at night. She was not the type to drink alone at Wall Maria. And she was _definitely_ not the type to do either of those things on a Tuesday evening with seventy ungraded essays and a headache sitting on her desk at home.

“What can I get you?” the bartender said, cleaning out a glass with a dirty rag.

“Er.” Historia glanced at the drink of the man next to her. “Whiskey...?”

“One whiskey comin' right up,” he said, and left to attend to a scowling customer on the far end of the bar counter.

Wall Maria was a lot darker, dingier, and danker than her coworkers had said. She couldn't understand the appeal of the dim flickering lights, or the ragtag second-rate indie acoustic band performing on that little half-stage, or the growl of conversation all around her. She stared at the whorls in the bar counter and hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself appear as small as possible. One drink. That was it. One drink and she was out of this rat's nest.

“What's your name?”

She looked up. The man next to her – the one with the whiskey – was smiling.

“Historia.”

“Bradley.” His smile twitched maybe a millimeter wider. “Do you come here often?”

“No, this is my first time.”

“Cool,” said Bradley. He was still smiling. He made a half-thrust sideways with his hips, dragging his bar stool closer to Historia. “You're beautiful.”

“Erm,” Historian mumbled, staring down at the counter. An ill feeling was seeping into her head, and she wondered when that drink – the whiskey – was going to arrive. “Thanks?”

“What's your number?”

Historia stiffened. Bradley had placed his hand on her knee, and was rubbing carelessly up and down her thigh. She kept staring at the counter, holding back tears. No. No.  _No._ She was a grown woman. Grown women didn't cry because men touched their knees.

“Please leave me alone,” Historia whispered.

Bradley's smile got even bigger. He leaned in, breath smelling like whiskey and smokes and bad intentions. “Your number?”

His fingers inched up her leg, squeezing her flesh. Her heartbeat quickened and she tried to push him off, but he easily swatted her hands away, laughing. “Come on, don't be a bitch.”

“I – I don't have a phone.”

“Liar,” said Bradley. His smile vanished. He no longer made Historia uncomfortable; he frightened her. “I saw you checking it a few minutes ago.”

Historia shrank back from him. She gripped her handbag, wondering if she could hit him as a distraction and run away. Or was she overreacting? She was probably overreacting.

“Here's ya whiskey, little lady!” The bartender reappeared, setting a small, squat glass of something golden in front of her. At last Bradley leaned away, eyeing the bartender.

Historia hugged her handbag to her chest. “Thank you,” she said. The bartender moved away to serve another customer, and she resisted the temptation to cry after him – but what would she say? Help, I'm being mildly inconvenienced by a strange man? It would be better not to waste his time, or his patience.

“So your number,” Bradley said. “What is it?”

“Uhm,” said Historia. She could give him a fake number, but what if he found out and got mad? She could give him her real number, but what if he kept hounding her, chasing her, until he found her alone one day in her study or her apartment...? “I – I…”

Bradley reached for her and she flinched, expecting rough fingers to wrap around her forearm, but before Bradley could touch her, someone grabbed his wrist. “Whoa there, buddy.”

Both Bradley and Historia turned around in their seats. 'Someone' turned out to be a tall, dark woman who looked thoroughly unimpressed with Bradley's behavior. “I think you've had too much to drink.”

Bradley yanked his wrist out of her grasp. “Fuck off.”

“Watch your language,” the woman said.

“Excuse me?” Bradley got to his feet. Even though the woman was tall, he was taller, and he easily towered over her. “I said, fuck _off_.”

The woman moved in, and for an absurd second Historia thought she was going to kiss him; but she stoppped a few milimeters away from his lips. Bradley's whole body went rigid.

“And I said,” the woman stated, her eyes narrowed into slits, “watch your fuckin' language, bud.” Her arm shifted. Bradley let out a choking noise. “Unless you wanna part with your crown jewels.”

“No – I don't –”

“Then watch it. Understand?”

Bradley nodded, eyes as wide as dinner plates. The woman stayed there for a heartbeat longer, then pulled back, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Get out.” Bradley let out a gasp of relief and scurried away without another word, abandoning his whiskey at the counter.

“You okay?” the woman said, taking Bradley's bar stool. Historia nodded rapidly, eyes wide. “He didn't hurt you?”

“N-No.”

“That's good. Mind if I take a sip?” The woman indicated her whiskey. Historia shook her head numbly, and watched in wonder as the woman guzzled down her drink.

When the woman set the glass down, Historia burst out, “Thank you! I – I don't even know who you are, but thank you, he was just so weird and creepy and I didn't know how to get rid of him, and -”

Chuckling, the woman waved her gratitude away. “Don't.” She held out her hand. “I'm Ymir.”

Historia shook her hand, noticing how Ymir's fingers completely enveloped her own. Now that Bradley was gone, Ymir's sheer size was all the more apparent. “Historia,” she said, managing a smile. “Your name – is it the same as the one in Norse mythology?”

“Yeah, my mom was a bit of a nut – why, you taking a class on it?”

“Teaching one, actually,” Historia said. Ymir raised her eyebrows. “At the college. I'm … actually, I have no idea why I'm here. My friends said I should come,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.

“No offense, but your friends have shitty taste,” said Ymir. “The Wall Maria's a real dump – I swung by for the music, my buddies are playing.” Her eyes brightened. “Hey, why don't I show you somewhere worth your money?”

“Um.”

“No pressure,” said Ymir. “If you don't wanna come, that's fine.”

Historia hesitated. So far, Ymir had been nothing but kind to her, and she might as well repay the favor; moreover, she was curious about the city's nightlife, having never ventured into the streets past ten o'clock in her life. It would be comforting to brave the club scene with a friendly acquaintance. “I'll come.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure,” said Historia.

“Great!” Ymir raised her hand, attracting the bartender's attention. “I'll pay for your whiskey – I drank it, after all.”

“Thank you.”

“So polite,” said Ymir as the bartender came over. She paid him and hopped off the bar stool, eyes shining. “Ready for the best night of your life?”

“I hope so,” Historia giggled, slipping off the bar stool.

“Good enough!” Ymir stepped in front of her, heading for the entrance of Wall Maria. As Historia followed, sticking close to her to avoid getting pushed around by the crowd of shabbily-dressed clubbers, she couldn't help but feel glad for visiting the Wall Maria.

 


End file.
